


Can't Do Better Than This

by Anonymous



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Everyone Is A Grounder (The 100), Amnesia, Echo-centric (The 100), F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Or depending on how you look at it, Road Trips, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Tattoo Artist Clarke Griffin, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29873421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Echo has no idea who she is. More specifically, Echo fell down a hill and smacked her head against a rock, and now she LITERALLY has no idea who she is.What she does have is a series of tattoos that guide her as she tries to regain her lost memories, and a tattoo artist slash best friend slash possible love of her life named Clarke who's all too willing to help her.
Relationships: Echo & Roan (The 100), Echo/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: TROPED: Madness 2.0





	Can't Do Better Than This

**Author's Note:**

> So this is for the Qualifying Round of Troped Madness 2.0. Prompts were:
> 
> Character: Echo  
> Theme: Romance  
> Trope 1: Amnesia AU  
> Trope 2: Tattoos
> 
> Towards the beginning of this, I realized five days was just not long enough for me to write this and do all the research needed to pull off realistic amnesia, so I gave up on the whole "realistic" thing. Hope no one minds ^-^
> 
> Title is from Show Me What I'm Looking For by Carolina Liar.

"You've got quite the pain tolerance," Nyko mused as he finished bandaging Echo's apparently sprained left wrist. "You haven't made a noise this whole time, even when I was bandaging up that nasty gash in your head." He glanced at her face thoughtfully. "Maybe you're a fighter of some sort?"

Echo shrugged noncommittally, taking care not to jostle the wrist he was working on. She'd stumbled into the clinic at which Nyko worked two hours ago, looking, in his words, like she'd been tied up and dragged behind a horse. That, of course, had been after several hours of stumbling through the woods towards the nearest village, which had, in turn, been after at least an hour of carefully picking her way around the steep, vast hill that had blocked her path. (Given her wounded state, climbing it had seemed unwise.) All in all, it must've been no less than half a day since she'd peeled herself off the bottom of said hill, covered in scratches and bruises, her blood coating the rock upon which her head had rested.

Since she'd awoken with no idea where she was or, more alarmingly, _who_ she was.

"The good news is that, physically, you're due for a full recovery," Nyko announced, releasing her wrist and sitting across from her.

"And mentally?" Echo asked flatly, a foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"That'd be the bad news," Nyko confirmed. "Memory loss is tricky. There's no telling when your memories will start to return. Could be a day, a week, a year." His lips stretched into a sympathetic grimace. "Could be never."

Echo sighed. She'd been afraid of that.

Nyko was frowning at her now. "You really can't remember a thing?" he pressed. "Like, say, someone you know? Or at least some _where_ you know?"

"I'll be fine," she reassured him, rising from her seat. "I'll figure something out."

Nyko stood too, holding a hand out as if to stop her. "I don't like the idea of you wandering around with no clue who you are," he protested.

Echo glanced at the short line of people that was just visible through the clinic entrance. "You have other patients. I can sort myself out."

Nyko contemplated those patients for a moment. Then he said, "Come with me. I can set you up with a place to stay tonight while you're 'sorting yourself out.' A friend of mine always has a bed available for travelers; I'm sure he'll help you out."

Echo followed him outside as he offered a brief explanation and an assurance that he would return shortly to the patients waiting, then led the way through the village until they reached a particularly large building. A sign that protruded from the wall read, 'Lincoln's Inn.' Nyko strode inside with Echo at his heel.

The establishment's parlor room was perfectly cozy, decorated with comfortable-looking seats, gorgeous illustrations, and a houseplant here and there. A young woman sat near the doorway sharpening a blade. Upon their entrance she looked up at them, beamed, and set her work aside. "Hey, Nyko," she greeted him, standing as they approached.

"Morning, Octavia."

"Who's your friend?" Octavia asked affably.

"Good question," Echo muttered under her breath.

"This is Echo, one of my patients. Long story short, she woke up last night with a bad head wound and no memories. I was hoping you and Lincoln could put her up for a while, at least until she gets her bearings."

"I don't need more than a night," Echo added firmly.

"Echo, huh?" Octavia gave her a quick onceover. The way Octavia said her name made her think it must be a familiar one, but if they knew each other, Octavia didn't say it. All she said was, "Good to meet you. A friend of Nyko's is a friend of ours, so you can definitely stay here a few nights at least."

Echo opened her mouth to protest that that wasn't necessary (though she had no memories to back up her perceived self-sufficiency, so she could be wrong), but her attention was attracted by a drawing hung on the wall nearby. A sunset was depicted.

"You like that?" Octavia tracked Echo's gaze. "My friend Clarke drew it. She drew most of these - "

"Clarke," Echo murmured thoughtfully. The name definitely rang a bell.

"That looks like one of your tattoos, doesn't it?" Nyko pointed out. He gestured to Echo's right arm, and she obligingly rolled up her sleeves, revealing several tattoos. One of them indeed bore a striking resemblance to the sunset on the wall.

Octavia examined first the sunset on her inner forearm, then a snake that wove around her bicep, then a waterfall just above it. "So you're _that_ Echo!"

Echo started. "So you do know me?"

"Of you," Octavia corrected, flashing her a wide grin. "No doubt about it, this is Clarke's handiwork. She's a tattoo artist. Lives pretty close…. Tell you what. I've got work later today, but I'm free tomorrow. I can give you a lift over. I bet she'll have answers for you."

"Thank you," Echo replied, startled but incredibly grateful. At once, she felt some of the tension drain from her. Having a clear plan was a relief.

* * *

The sun had just begun to sink into the horizon on the following day when the horse carrying Echo and Octavia galloped into Clarke's village. Octavia, who sat in front, directed the horse through town. They came to a halt before a small cabin. Outside it, a woman with short blonde hair sat cross-legged on a bench, an open sketchbook in her lap, a pencil in her hand, and a pensive look on her face. Echo didn't need context to know that that was Clarke; she recognized the blonde on sight.

"Hey, Clarke!" Octavia called out as she slipped off the saddle. Echo followed suit.

"Hey, O," Clarke responded. Her features softened into a smile, but she did not look away from her drawing. "I wasn't expecting you. What brings you 'round?"

"Ran into a friend of yours. Thought I'd give her a ride."

At that, Clarke looked up. Her eyes landed on Echo immediately, and she shoved her sketchbook off of her, stood up, and quickly approached them, exclaiming all the while, "Echo! I thought you were heading home! Did you forget something here?" She scowled as she reached them, her hands gently grasping Echo's bandaged wrist and raising it for closer inspection. Echo was too surprised to stop her. "What _happened_ to you? You always turn up injured, but this is a new extreme. How recently did you get all these?" Before anyone could answer, Clarke placed one hand on the small of Echo's back and guided her into the cabin, Octavia trailing after them. "Let me get you fresh bandages and check on your stitches."

"I don't understand. Are you… both a tattoo artist and a healer?"

Clarke paused in the process of herding Echo into a chair, shooting her a confused look.

"Echo fell down a hill and landed on her head," Octavia piped up helpfully. "Woke up with no memories and no clue who she was. We were hoping you could help with that." To Echo, she added, "Clarke's mother is a healer. She picked some things up."

Clarke's eyes widened. "You really don't remember anything?"

Echo shook her head.

Clarke pursed her lips. "Crap…. Honestly, I doubt I can help much."

"What?" Octavia stared blankly at her. "But… it's… Echo. You know, your… your, uh, favorite client?"

Clarke sighed. "I mean, I can fill in details - favorite food, favorite holiday, simple stuff - but all I really know about you is that you live up north, your work and life are basically top-secret, and you get hurt a lot…. Oh!" In one sharp motion, she removed her hands from Echo and stepped away. "Here I am, a complete stranger, totally invading your personal space. My bad."

"That's alright," Echo replied slowly, oddly jarred by the distance between them.

Octavia looked as disappointed as Echo felt as the three of them sat in Clarke's living room. "Damn. I really thought you were skimping on personal details whenever you mentioned her because you didn't want me in your business."

"You two talk about me?" Echo gave them both quizzical looks.

Octavia blanched. "Just because you and Clarke are such good friends!" she exclaimed.

Clarke groaned. "Yeah, such good friends that I can't even help you figure out who you are."

"Well, maybe those little details you were talking about will help jog her memory!" Octavia suggested brightly.

"What about my tattoos?" Echo said. "I have so many. Some of them must mean something, right?"

Clarke was still frowning, but her body language was lighter. "A good few of them. You've got the _Scutum_ constellation, for example. I know you chose it specifically because it's the shield constellation. I know that was significant to you. You never told me why, though. I assumed it was related to your background."

Echo eyed the palm of her right hand speculatively. "Between your comment that I get hurt often and the calluses on my hand, it's safe to assume I'm some kind of warrior. Perhaps I'm a bodyguard or something similar."

"What if you actually saw the inspiration for your tattoos?"

Echo and Clarke both turned to Octavia, Echo skeptical, Clarke thoughtful. "I saw a sunset on the way here," Echo pointed out. "It didn't jog anything."

"You didn't get the sunset tattoo for any significant reason, though," Clarke countered. "You just saw my drawing and liked it. Maybe if you saw, say, the flower you got tattooed on your ankle, that might trigger something?"

Echo rolled up her right pantleg to examine the aforementioned tattoo. A branch ran halfway up her leg, with several long-petaled flowers blooming along it. "Any idea where I can find one of these?"

"Looks like _wintam bluma_ to me," Octavia said. "Some call it witch hazel. I'm pretty sure those grow in the north."

Echo hummed. "Clarke, you said I was headed north last you saw me?"

Clarke nodded.

"Well, that's as fine a place as any to start." Echo dropped her pantleg and stood. "Is there an inn I could stay at tonight before I head north? It's later than I'd like to start traveling today."

Clarke scoffed, one of her hands lashing out to grasp Echo's sleeve - not tugging, at least not yet, just grasping. "You can't think I'd let you wander around with no memories."

"I'm not wandering," Echo disagreed. "I have a clear destination in mind - "

"North."

"...Yes."

Clarke raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Yeah, here's what's gonna happen: first, you're staying here tonight, not some inn. I've got room. Second, you're going to stay a few more nights while I get my affairs in order."

"Sounds like you're dying when you phrase it that way."

Clarke ignored Octavia's interjection. "Third, at the end of the week, you _and I_ are going to head north. I'm not sure how far north we'll need to go, so we'll look for anyone who might be missing you in each town we pass. On the way, I'll keep an eye out for anything else that might match your tattoos. If we haven't found any leads by the autumn equinox, we'll come home to regroup and come up with a new plan."

"I can't ask you to do all that," Echo protested.

"You're not asking. I'm offering," Clarke said matter-of-factly. "Besides, it's nearly summer. Perfect traveling weather."

* * *

Clarke was not to be dissuaded, and though Echo disliked the idea of putting her out, she was also glad. The idea of roaming the world all on her own felt… lonely. Familiar, but lonely. She definitely didn't mind Clarke's company.

True to her word, Clarke was prepared for their mission within a week, so the two of them embarked on their journey to the north on a pair of horses borrowed from one of Clarke's friends. It was reassuringly soon that they came across something familiar; ten days into the trip, Echo spotted the inspiration for one of her tattoos nestled in the needles of a red pine. It was a pollen cone, composed of small, scaly-looking, magenta ovoids. Echo tugged her horse to a halt, disembarked from it, and plucked one that was particularly low-hanging, taking a moment to admire its unexpectedly smooth texture.

"You used to harvest the pollen from these cones, growing up," Clarke said gently from her right, having joined her on solid ground. "You'd put it in tea whenever you were sick. You said it helped you recover faster."

"Does it?" Echo asked absently, something itching in the back of her mind, like a thought that wasn't quite forming.

Clarke shrugged, a smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "You thought it was effective. Personally, I think it's all in your head."

Echo stared pensively at the little cone, mentally weaving wisps of memory into something approaching tangibility. "I don't think I've seen one of these recently," she concluded eventually. "I must not live near red pine anymore…. That, or I've been away from home a long time."

"If it's the first one," Clarke said optimistically, "that's a pretty good clue! And if it's the second one, there's still a decent chance we'll run into someone who's seen you recently by steering clear of red pine."

Tentatively, Echo smiled back. "Sounds good."

* * *

"Are you _sure_ this is my favorite fruit?"

"Positive."

Echo and Clarke sat in front of a campfire a little after midday, watching two fish roast. They'd intended to make more progress before settling down for their next meal, but Clarke had spied some fruit trees on the outskirts of the forest they were passing and insisted they stop to pick some. The fruit in question looked entirely unappetizing, like a weirdly pink, fuzzy pear, or perhaps a weirdly pear-shaped peach. Of course, Clarke had assured her that it would be as appetizing as any fruit once it had been skinned and chopped, so Echo was giving her the benefit of the doubt.

Once Clarke put the fruit and the knife in Echo's hands, Echo found that those hands knew what to do immediately and got started with no input whatsoever from her conscious mind. Conveniently, this left her mind unoccupied so she could say to Clarke, without fear of losing concentration and nicking herself, "I talk about these often?"

"Often?" Clarke hummed. "I wouldn't say so. But you told me once a few years ago that if I ever happened to have these on the autumn equinox, you'd stop by and peel them for me. Ever since then, I've always made sure I had some when you came around - at least when I knew you were coming ahead of time."

Echo contemplated the partially peeled fruit in her hand as her other hand mechanically worked her blade under the next bit of skin. Absently, she noted that the work was strangely satisfying, peaceful and consistent, occupying her hands effortlessly. "And that was - the autumn equinox? Every year? I was under the impression that my visitation was less reliable than that."

"Nothing about you is 'unreliable,'" Clarke corrected, then seemed embarrassed, looking away with a pink tinge to her cheeks. "You have a busy job, so you don't get to visit often. But you always make time for me on the equinox. You even have a section of your back dedicated to tattoos from those visits in particular."

They made quick work of the rest of their harvest. The fruit really was unrecognizable, but Echo couldn't forget what it had looked like to start with. She shot Clarke one last dubious look. Clarke nodded emphatically at her. Echo shrugged and took a bite.

"It tastes like… apple?"

"Yep!"

Echo snorted. "Then why not just eat apples?"

Clarke grinned cheekily at her. "Because you like peeling it."

"I like… peeling it?"

"Yep!"

Echo looked from her hands to the prepared fruit tidbits to the discarded skins shreds. "That sounds ac- "

"Echo, look!"

Clarke pointed excitedly at the neighboring forest, so Echo looked up. A small red-and-brown bird was perched in the branches of a tree. _Hou finch,_ her brain supplied.

"Isn't that the tattoo on your left bicep?"

"I had one of those as a pet once," Echo blurted out. The words scarcely took the time to filter through her mind before passing through her lips, yet as soon as she heard them, she knew they were true. Already, an image of a bird just like that flitting around behind wooden bars flashed in her head.

"Yeah! Still have him, actually. Do you remember his name?"

Echo struggled with the memory for a few moments.

"It's alright if you don't, Echo," Clarke reassured her. "Your memories will come back in their own time. You can't force them."

Echo nodded, stifling a sigh. It wasn't the first time Clarke had reminded her of that, but she was still frustrated with the slow progress her mind was making. The restoration of her memories felt incredibly urgent - not in a "missing them" kind of way, but a "rip off the medical tape" kind of way. The sooner she knew who she was, the less time she spent settling into who she might become without them.

"His name was Rei," Clarke continued. "Short for Jusdreinen."

"I named him _Bloodshed_?" Echo exclaimed.

Clarke cackled. "Yeah! You said the red on his chest made him look like a warrior!"

Echo laughed softly, her gaze fixed on that familiar bird. After several seconds of trying to picture him in a cage, she realized that silence had fallen over them. She glanced over her shoulder at Clarke only to see the other woman quickly look away, that pink tinge back in place.

* * *

"Echo? Ready to go yet?"

Echo strayed from the makeshift campsite they'd slept in last night, lulled to sleep by the cheerful river burbling away several feet east of them. It was just past dawn just past mid-summer, and they were packing to get back on the move, but…, "I know this place."

"Really?"

Echo stepped closer to the wall of ivy lining the steep, rocky cliffside beside which their camp had been set up. "I didn't recognize it in the dark, but I'm positive. I've been here before." She trailed her fingers through the leafy blanket, walking along the wall until her fingers ran across a break in the stone. With both hands, she parted the ivy, revealing a hole in the cliffside that was just large enough for a human, and a tunnel so deep she couldn't see the end. She turned to Clarke to ask if they could investigate, but Clarke was already putting together a torch with the emergency supplies they'd brought with them. Once it was lit, the two of them exchanged looks of anticipation and marched into the tunnel.

It was thankfully bereft of animals, though Echo had to brush some webs out of their way. The deeper they went, the colder it got, until Echo wished she had brought something warmer to wear. And as they progressed further, the sound of rushing water they'd left behind was actually growing more pronounced instead of more distant. Eventually, they emerged in broad daylight, several yards higher than they'd been before. By now, the sun had climbed high into the sky, indicating that it was nearly noon.

And to their left, crashing down the cliffside that had curved to run perpendicular to their viewpoint, was a massive and familiar waterfall.

"That's your tattoo!" Clarke exclaimed, gesturing enthusiastically. "The one on your right arm!"

Between their perspective and the overgrowth framing the waterfall, Echo knew she was right. "But how did you draw it so accurately?"

"You brought me a drawing that time," Clarke explained, then elaborated, unexpectedly despondently, "Someone else must have… come here with you. To draw it for you."

Echo hummed. "Right. I suppose so…. I must have hired someone to come all the way out here then, considering we're so far from any town." The perfect distance, in her opinion. Far enough that anyone who came up here would find themselves undisturbed. It seemed the ideal place to just sit and… sharpen some blades, or… peel some fruit, or some other menial task. Incredibly relaxing.

"You think you hired someone?" Clarke asked, despondency gone.

"I couldn't draw something like this," Echo pointed out, gesturing from the waterfall to her tattoo. "So I must have commissioned a drawing from someone once I discovered this place so you could tattoo it."

They took in the view for a few more heartbeats. Then Clarke peered around the corner and gasped. "Look! That's where we started!"

Echo followed her gaze all the way to where their horses were still tied up, and their belongings sat waiting to be fastened to said horses. Somewhere under that ivy wall, the other end of the tunnel lurked, obscured from view. When she turned back to Clarke to comment on how the darkness and length of the tunnel had messed with their perceptions of height and direction, the other woman was undressing. Echo looked dubiously from Clarke to the waterfall. "You're not planning to jump."

"Of course I am!" Clarke laughed. "How can you look at that and not immediately want to jump? We already know it's not dangerous."

That was true enough. They'd used the river to wash up the night before, so they knew it was deep enough, slow enough, and smooth enough on the riverbed to be safe. "We'll have to come all the way back up here to get our clothes," Echo pointed out. "And we won't be able to jump again; we'll have to go all the way back down the tunnel. We're going to lose a whole day of traveling."

Clarke shrugged, eyes sparkling.

Echo shook her head, but she was smiling. She stripped off her outermost layer of clothing, leaving her in just her underclothes. "Ready?"

Clarke hesitated, worrying her bottom lip. Then, with the air of someone who had been biting her tongue for a while, she blurted out, "So you don't think you came here with someone else? Just an artist?"

"No, I don't," Echo answered with certainty. "I think I usually travel alone…."

_And I can't imagine coming here with anyone but you._

Exchanging smiles, they jumped out of the tunnel and into the river below.

* * *

"You've got the campfire going?"

"Yep."

"And the fish roasting?"

"...Yes?"

"Okay, great. Come here; I want to show you something."

Curious, Echo rose from her place by the campfire and walked over to Clarke.

They were over two months into their expedition now, and that much closer to the autumn equinox. Part of Echo was almost excited for it, but part of her was also apprehensive about the possibility of going home to Clarke's village, building a brand new life from scratch, and _then_ recovering her memories. It would be best for everyone if she got her memories back before then. (No matter how little she wanted them.) It was an hour or two past sunset, and the only thing left on their agenda for the day was dinner, or so Echo had thought until Clarke had called her over.

As she approached Clarke, the latter beamed and tugged free from her horse's satchel a… blanket, of all things.

"You didn't bring that with you."

It was not a question, but all the same, Clarke answered brightly, "Nope! I traded some food for it in the marketplace we passed through yesterday."

Echo tried not to let her confusion show too much in the face of Clarke's obvious cheer. "Ah…, out of curiosity, why did you buy a blanket in the middle of summer? Did something happen to one of the sleeping bags?"

"No, but blankets are _essential_ for stargazing. And it's the perfect time of year to see your shield in the sky!"

 _The constellation_ , Echo realized.

Clarke unfurled the blanket, shook it out, and laid it out on the grass. Then she laid down on half of it, and then she patted the other half, looking to Echo expectantly.

Echo gingerly lowered herself onto the blanket and reclined until she was on her back, the length of her body running parallel to Clarke's.

She scanned the sky for several moments, but given that this was effectively her very first time stargazing, it came as no surprise when Clarke found it first. "Look, right there," Clarke whispered, pointing. "That's _scutum_."

Echo discovered the constellation shortly. The two of them observed it in silence for several moments, until finally Echo whispered back, "That's a funny name for a constellation, right? It's not just me?"

Clarke snorted. "You're such a dork sometimes. It was named a long time ago. Like, really long. Even to the pre-Praimfaya era of human society, it was old."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, you told me about its origins when you got it tattooed in the first place." Echo heard the smile in Clarke's voice. Without looking, she could easily picture it blossoming on her face. "That was one of your first."

"You really paid attention to what I told you, huh," Echo mused. "You know, there are more important things to pay attention to."

"Never." There was a teasing lilt to Clarke's voice, but it was accompanied by a note of truth, too.

Echo's hand itched to reach for Clarke's, but something stopped her. It was those damned memories, hanging over her head like a guillotine. Until she had some idea of who she was, something more than scraps and fragments and half-formed thoughts, she couldn't let herself make a move like that. For all she knew, she had a partner already, someone who was looking for her right this second (although, perhaps uncharitably, she thought they must not be doing a very good job). Or maybe she had a job that kept her from pursuing such things. She wasn't sure what she resented more: her accident all those weeks ago, for washing away her memories to begin with, or her past self, for not making all of this a lot easier by just being with Clarke.

"What's wrong?" Clarke asked, and Echo realized she had groaned out loud.

"...Is it strange that I don't miss my memories at all?"

Clarke hummed, furrowing her brow. "I don't think so. It can't be easy to miss what you've never known, right?"

That didn't sound so accurate to Echo, who could have sworn she missed Clarke's lips against hers despite being relatively confident that she'd never experienced such a thing. "I guess I wouldn't know," she said eventually in lieu of all that. "I haven't known much. I'm not sure I'd even recognize the feeling." Echo glanced over at Clarke, who still looked contemplative, and added uncertainly, "Do you… miss my memories? Do you miss my having them?"

Clarke was silent for so long that Echo was rather depressingly convinced she would say 'yes.' In a way, she was right. Eventually Clarke said, "Only in that I miss them on your behalf. You seem... unhappy without them."

"I am happy," Echo protested automatically, startled.

Clarke shot her a soft smile. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm happy, too. I guess what I meant was… unsettled. You seem unsettled, like you're not quite fulfilled by what you're doing. But you know what? Even if you don't recover your memories, you'll settle into yourself soon. I know you will. It's who you are. You might not end up leading the same life you led before, but you'll make a life for yourself doing something amazing that'll fulfill you just as much as… well, whatever it is you did before. You won't be able to help it. And if you get your memory back months or years from now, no matter what, I'll be there to help you reconcile your old life with your new one. We'll figure it out together, Echo, I promise."

Echo, too, smiled at that, and then she did give in and reach for Clarke's hand, if only to give it a brief squeeze before pulling away again.

* * *

The autumn equinox was swiftly gaining on them, looming ever-temptingly just a handful of days out of reach, when Clarke jerked her horse to a halt, yelped, "There!" and practically launched herself out of her saddle.

The urgent noise and motion registered as 'danger' in Echo's mind for a heartbeat, and that was all it took for her to jump off and chase after Clarke to a patch of yellow flowers. By the time she got there, it occurred to her that Clarke was excited, not scared, so she took a moment to catch her breath before asking, "What is it?"

Clarke plucked one of the flowers and held it up for Echo's inspection. "Witch hazel!"

"Oh!" In all the excitement of the past… going on three months now, Echo had nearly forgotten their initial goal: to find the inspiration for the flower tattoo that Octavia had pointed out in the first place, way back when. Echo accepted the flower so she could admire it more closely, then turned her gaze to the patch at large. They looked even more beautiful in a group. _And,_ she thought, turning her gaze next to the steadily growing bunch that Clarke was gathering in her grasp, _even more beautiful in Clarke's hands._ Not that she was biased or anything.

"Do you know how to make flower crowns?" Clarke asked.

Echo shook her head.

"I'll show you." Clarke thrust the bunch at Echo, and as soon as it was taken, began picking a whole new bunch. "We're still pretty close to the village we just passed; let's head back for lunch, and then we can make flower crowns before dinner."

"Sounds like a plan," Echo agreed warmly.

They mounted their respective horses once more, bags bursting with witch hazel (Echo suspected they had too much, but then again, she was no expert), and headed back to the village.

When they got there, Clarke told Echo to save them a seat on the outskirts of the food market while she went to grab their meal. That was why Echo was alone when a hooded man slid into the seat across from her.

"Echo," he said in relief. "Where the hell have you been?!" He glared at her, but his relief was still palpable. "You were supposed to return to the castle before summer. What happened?"

Caught off-guard, Echo blurted out, "You know me?"

The man eyed her warily now, his glare slipping from his face. "Of course I do. What's wrong with you?"

"Amnesia," Echo answered succinctly. Despite her prior misgivings, there was something soothing about the knowledge that she was about to have answers once and for all. "I lost all of my memories three months ago. I've been looking for clues ever since then."

The man sighed heavily, rubbing his face. "That _would_ be the only thing that could get you to take a damn vacation," he muttered. "So what do you know?"

Echo shared first what she had learned, which was hardly anything, then what she and Clarke had speculated, which was hardly any more.

He nodded along with her, and when she was finished, said, "You _are_ a protector… of sorts. You're an assassin, but you only kill those who are out to kill me. Your job is essentially to protect me preemptively."

"And you are?"

He smirked. "King Roan of Azgeda."

Echo reeled, shocked, but truthfully the information was not as jarring as it ought to have been. Perhaps a small part of her had remembered that all along. "So… what now?" Her heart plummeted. That was exactly the kind of occupation that would keep her from Clarke, wasn't it? "I suppose the next thing is for me to return to Azgeda with you."

"Well, yes." Roan gave her a curious look, then a sly one. "But I suppose you'd rather keep traveling with Clarke, hm?"

There was something knowing in his voice that made her wonder…. "Roan - er, Your Majesty - "

"From you, just Roan."

"Roan, regarding Clarke, ah…, do - do I… have I…"

"You're madly in love with her, yes."

Echo started. "I am? For how long?"

"Practically since you met her. But you've never gone after her for fear of putting her in danger."

The brief spark of hope that had ignited in her was quickly doused. "I see. Is that a valid concern?"

Roan considered her for a moment. "Theoretically…, but I may have a solution, if she's open to it."

Echo nodded for him to continue, that wretched spark back despite her best efforts.

"It would be a lot less dangerous for her if she were to move into the castle with you. She would still be able to travel to visit her friends and whatnot, if only accompanied by guards. She could run a tattoo art business out of the capital if she so wished."

" _Less_ dangerous is not _not_ dangerous," Echo pointed out.

"That's true," Roan conceded. "But it is exceedingly unlikely that any foes would ever make it into the castle, particularly with you weeding them out before they ever strike. And I think it ought to be her choice whether it's worth the risk, not yours."

"Surely I made that call for a good reason," Echo murmured, conflicted. "Until I have my memories back…, I can't change my mind in good conscience."

Roan tutted at her. "I urge you to reconsider, Echo. You said your memories may never return. You can't live your whole life waiting for them. Listen, if you had further reasons, I promise you would have told them to me."

Echo met his gaze. She had no logical reason to trust him, but she felt so strongly compelled to. Surely that meant she had trusted him before.

"You have always been burdened by your duty to the crown," Roan continued. "If anything good can come out of this mess, perhaps it's that you can let yourself be happy for once."

Before Echo could respond, Clarke returned with food. She slowed when she laid eyes on Roan, but steadily made her way towards them until she was taking the seat beside Echo. "Who's this?" she asked, her voice light and friendly but her eyes cautious.

"Why don't you go grab some food?" Echo suggested to Roan. "I'll fill her in while you're gone."

Roan raised his eyebrows beseechingly at her.

After a long moment, Echo nodded.

Roan flashed her a wide grin, stood, and left in search of his own lunch.

Echo took a deep breath, and then she began to share with Clarke everything that she had just discussed with Roan. In the end, she concluded with, "I have no idea how close we normally are, so I don't know if this is… too fast, or too much, or - "

"Stop," Clarke interrupted, her brightest smile yet spreading from ear to ear. "Echo, this is… perfect. I'll go with you. Of course I'll go with you."

"But are you sure?" Echo pressed, ruthlessly refusing to let Clarke's initial choice settle in just yet. "You understand that you'll be in danger? Possibly forever?"

"I understand, and this is what I want," Clarke vowed. "It's worth it. _You're_ worth it." She leaned forward and pressed her lips gently against Echo's, then parted from her just far enough to whisper, "You always have been."

**Author's Note:**

> Wintam bluma = winterbloom, another name for witch hazel. Many thanks to the [Unofficial Trigedasleng Dictionary](https://trigedasleng.net/) for their help there. Hou finch = house finch, too. And the fruit, in case you were wondering, is a mutation caused by Praimfaya.
> 
> If you've got time this weekend, please check out the other fics in the collection and [vote](https://troped-fanfic-challenge.tumblr.com/post/644915494233702400/the-qualifying-round) in Troped Madness 2.0 Qualifying Round! Voting ends March 8th at 3am EST.
> 
> Some additional theme songs for this fic:  
>  **Waiting For You** by **Grizfolk** for Clarke's POV  
>  **New Orleans** by **Parachute** for the waterfall scene  
>  **Falling Slowly** by **Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová** for the stargazing scene (HIGHLY recommend for the ~vibes~)


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